


Prom Night

by cheshirecat101



Category: Hannibal (TV), Prom Night (2008)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Dark, F/F, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Graphic Violence, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Hannibal, Past Violence, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Prom, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecat101/pseuds/cheshirecat101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night of Will's Senior prom when an unexpected face shows up from the past; Hannibal Lecter, who destroyed his life only a few years ago, and whose obsession with him burns just as strongly now as it did then. Crossover with the 2008 version of Prom Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prom Night

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I have a weakness for combining shows with horror movies, and this one has been floating around in Microsoft Word for quite a while. But finally, here it is, in all its horror movie glory. Also, I advise you listen to Time of the Season by The Ben Taylor Band, because it's used in Prom Night and actually perfect for Hannigram. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Friendly reminder that I do commissions, if you're interested please message me at the email on my profile.

“Matthew?”

The call was quiet, shaky, but loud in the dark stillness of the house. Will could hear his own breathing in his ears, feel his pulse making his hands tremble on the gun. He swallowed once, twice, trying to find the courage to use his voice again like a child in the middle of the night, trying to call for their parents but not wanting the monsters from their nightmares to hear. This was certainly a nightmare, and Will didn’t know where the monster was at the moment. That was the terrifying part.

“Matthew?”

Still no answer, and on any other occasion Matthew would have answered him instantly, responding to the thin thread of panic in Will’s voice and the heavy coating of stress, pressure, anxiety. He already knew he was going to find something bad, it was all a question of degrees now. The burns on his psyche that were yet to come could easily be third degree, it all depended on what he found as he slowly descended the stairs, gun at the ready out in front of him.

“Matthew?”

“In here, Will.”

A chill ran through him as he realized that wasn’t Matthew’s voice that answered him, though it was a voice that he recognized. That he knew rather well, but hadn’t heard in three years. Until earlier this evening, that was. He slowly turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs into the living room, walking forward a few steps, and stopped moving as soon as he saw what was in the doorway to the kitchen, stilling like any good piece of prey did when caught by the gaze of a predator.

There Hannibal stood, slightly rumpled, slightly bloody, his hair askew and his eyes calm, a controlled sort of anger in his eyes. He had Matthew in a headlock, who was also slightly bloodied, clear signs of a fight on him as well, evident in the cuts and developing bruises adorning his face. Will faltered slightly at that, the gun dipping down a bit before he raised it again, pointing it directly at Hannibal though they both knew he wouldn’t shoot. Not when Matthew was in danger, and that seemed to explain the anger in Hannibal’s eyes. The fact that Will wouldn’t endanger Matthew. Jealousy was a powerful force.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal said, his voice soft, as if not to disturb the silence of the house, put Will somewhat at ease. It was meant to be soothing, Will could tell, but it was far from that. How could it be soothing when it was the voice from his nightmares?

“Let him go,” Will said instantly, knowing the command would do nothing, but giving it anyway. His voice was slightly shaky but he was proud of how stable it was, actually, glad that he had enough strength left to keep it even.

Hannibal tsked softly. “We both know I can’t do that,” he said, and Matthew gave a desperate sort of wiggle, Hannibal instantly tightening the arm around his throat to keep him still. Will’s hands tightened on the gun at that, flexing in their grip, a motion that Hannibal seemed to catch. “You’re not going to shoot, Will. We both know that. Please put the gun down.”

Will shook his head, just a slight, almost imperceptible movement. “Not until you let him go,” he answered, and Hannibal shook his head, a much more obvious motion than Will’s had been.

“I want to make an exchange with you. You already know what I want.”

“I—” Will stopped, something in his voice cracking and nearly breaking altogether. He cleared his throat and tried again, concentrating this time on making it even. As even as Hannibal’s was. “I don’t know if I can give that to you, Dr. Lecter.”

“Oh, I do believe you can, Will. You’re the only one who can, otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now.” He paused, and Will could have sworn his eyes turned softer, something gentle in his expression, a tenderness Will would never have thought he was capable of if he hadn’t known Hannibal as his teacher before he saw him as a murderer. A muscle in his jaw pulsed and he realized he was clenching his teeth so hard it was starting to hurt. And suddenly he knew what Hannibal was going to say next, could see it coming like a train bearing down on him on the track, only he was tied down and couldn’t move away from it. “I love you very much, Will. And I would like to share my life with you.”

“I think we passed that opportunity a while ago,” Will said, his voice hard. “Right after you murdered my entire family.”

“I am sorry for that. But I did it to ensure that we could be together,” Hannibal said, and there was something regretful in his voice that Will absolutely hated, bringing a spark of anger with it. “And they were very rude to keep you from me.”  
“You did it because you’re a psychopath, don’t try to bullshit me. And no matter what reason you give me, it won’t be enough, there is no excuse for what you did. You can’t just murder someone’s family because you want them to love you, that’s not how that works.” And here the final blow, something meant to hurt; “Matthew knows that.”

_There_ was the anger in Hannibal’s eyes, less controlled now and swirling madly in his irises. Hannibal was the dangerous kind of insane, careful, quiet, controlled, but if Will got him angry enough maybe he could redirect Hannibal’s attention to him instead of Matthew. That was the goal, anyway.

Hannibal glanced at Matthew, still struggling in his grip, and then looked back up at Will. “Mr. Brown doesn’t understand you the way that I do.”

“Matthew understands me in ways that you never will. He knows me, in every sense of the word.” Just a little twist of the knife, a little implication that Hannibal was smart enough to catch. And he could see it when he did, the slight flicker of rage and hurt that crossed his face before it was gone, back to a placid, even surface. Good, he’d wanted that to hurt, he wanted to repay Hannibal in whatever petty way he could for all of the pain and the blood and the nightmares and the funerals and all the victims that had come before his family. Hannibal deserved so much pain, and this was the only way that Will could give to him. The cuts he made may have seemed shallow but he knew exactly how deeply they ran for Hannibal; after all, was there anything more important to him than Will?

“I’m surprised at how low your standards are. I expected more of you,” Hannibal said, and Will would have snorted if the situation wasn’t so serious and he could pretend that this was just a normal argument and he wasn’t holding a gun and Matthew wasn’t being held hostage. That was pure jealousy in Hannibal’s voice, nothing else, and Will could hear it clearly. Good. Let the bastard suffer. As long as he didn’t hurt Matthew.

“No, you expected me to love you the way that you love me. Match the sick obsession that you have,” Will said, his voice brutal, cutting with each word because he wanted it to hurt, he so desperately wanted it to hurt. “You tried to take away everything in my life that wasn’t you so I wouldn’t have anyone else left. Do you know how twisted that is?”

Hannibal didn’t answer him, still watching him with those calmly controlled eyes, dark as they were right now. Just like the eyes that haunted Will’s nightmares, always watching him closely, pinning him down under their gaze. The eyes of a predator on his prey, and Will very much felt like prey at the moment, trapped in a situation that he didn’t see an out from. Not without a miracle.

“And then tonight…you did it again. You hurt those closest to me and expected me to come running into your arms now that you’re back. But I was never yours, Dr. Lecter, and I won’t be now.”

“Then I suppose you will have to say goodbye to Matthew,” Hannibal said, his voice far too even, far too calm. He knew that he was in control of this situation, and Will knew it too. Matthew did as well, judging by the look in his eyes, and Will was starting to feel a desperate panic scratching its way up his throat. God no. Please god no, not this.

Hannibal made a motion like he was going to give a fatal twist to Matthew’s head, and Will cried out, “No, wait—”

Hannibal obediently stopped, looking at Will with all the expectation in his eyes. They both knew where this was going, Matthew knew where this was going, everyone knew where this was going. Will just had to acknowledge that, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to. He would never be prepared to.

He took a deep, measured breath, releasing a shaky exhale that didn’t help at all. Finally, he slowly lowered the gun, dipping his head in a quick nod. “Okay,” he said, resignation the only emotion in his voice. “I’ll go with you.”

***

The fight was brutal. Matthew had been in many fights in his youth, but nothing was quite as brutal as this one because there had never been so much on the line. When he was younger he hadn’t had Will, and now that he did, he wasn’t going to let him go unless he slipped out of his cold, dead grasp. Hannibal was trying to ensure that that happened. Thing was, he was succeeding.

Matthew had the advantage of his brain, of cleverness and cunning, but Hannibal had the advantage of brute strength. He was bigger than Matthew, and while Matthew was quite fit, he had a different body structure that was suited more to mobility than pure strength. So every hit from Hannibal was that much more potent, backed up by his powerful frame and excellent musculature, and Matthew’s best line of defense was to dodge dodge dodge, move as quickly as he could and fight dirty when he had the chance. And oh, he fought dirty.

Hannibal got the jump on him at first, though, when he came down the stairs to find Alana, check out the noises he’d heard. It was just to make sure everything was alright. The police officers outside were supposed to have everything under control, but it was good to be safe. When it came to Will, he could never be too safe. After all, Will was the most important thing in his life, and he deserved protection at all costs. And that was what Matthew would give him. Even if it cost him his life, which it was looking like it would.

Hannibal had a good hit in before Matthew could even register what was happening, head reeling as Hannibal aimed another punch that might have been able to knock him out if he hadn’t dodged at the last second, Hannibal’s fist connecting with the wall instead. As Hannibal yanked his arm back, looking barely fazed by the hit, Matthew ducked low and tackled him by the waist, driving him back into the doorway. Hannibal grunted, losing his balance for a second but managing to regain it as he clasped his hands together and drove both of his elbows down onto Matthew’s back, knocking Matthew off. Matthew stumbled back, nearly falling but catching himself just in time to get another hit from Hannibal, a wicked right hook that nearly knocked him to his knees.                                                                                                             

Instead, he lashed out with a powerful kick, catching Hannibal in the stomach and driving him back against the wall again. He followed that with a few swift body blows while Hannibal was still recovering, dancing back as soon as the man was recovered enough to take a swing at him, though it was a wild one at best. He had his fists up, ready to defend himself, and there was a moment where he and Hannibal made eye contact before Hannibal pulled a knife seemingly out of nowhere, but actually from the waistband of his pants, and lashed out at him with it.                

Matthew dodged the knife as best he could, then tried to disarm it, wrists hitting Hannibal at two separate points in his arm to make him release. But Hannibal anticipated him and brought the knife slashing down, cutting one of his arms, and he stepped back in pain, resisting the urge to clutch the affected area because he needed both hands to defend himself.

It wasn’t enough, though. Hannibal had a counter to every single one of his hits. Matthew could fight dirty all he liked, go for the eyes and the throat and the groin, but he was still losing to Hannibal because the other man was older, more experienced, and bigger. Hannibal had had plenty of practice killing, and Matthew was going to be no exception. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going down without a fight, though.

He managed to disarm the knife, at least, after a brutal knee to the groin that left Hannibal defenseless for long enough for Matthew to shout, “Will, run!” before Hannibal drove him back against the kitchen counter, cutting off his words as the wind was knocked out of him. Before he could regain his breath, he was suddenly being turned around roughly and before he knew it, an arm was looped around his throat and he couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. He clawed at the arm, elbowed Hannibal’s stomach, stomped on his foot, but all Hannibal did was tighten his grip like a python curling around its victim, cutting off Matthew’s air supply until black dots started to appear in his vision. That pressure eased, however, when they both heard the hesitant call of, “Matthew?”

Matthew’s struggles instantly doubled, desperate to call out to Will and tell him to run, goddamnit, run as far away as he could, because there was a madman downstairs who was looking for him and Matthew couldn’t protect him anymore. But he couldn’t call out, and instead had to wait in silence for Will to make his way down the stairs, continuing to call Matthew’s name.

***

“I thought that I was done with all of this.” Will’s voice was quiet where he lay with his head on Matthew’s stomach, Matthew sitting partially up in the bed and running his fingers through Will’s hair, gently combing his curls back in slow, soothing motions. Will didn’t speak for a minute, his eyes staring blankly at the TV, not really seeing it or paying much attention beyond recognizing the colorful shapes on the screen. He picked up that bloodied thread of conversation a few minutes later, his voice just as soft as before.  Careful, like talking about it would make it more real than it already was. Solidify the threat spoken about in hushed tones. “I thought when he was put away that I could move on with my life. Not quickly, of course, that was never an option, but eventually. I started going to see Dr. Du Maurier, I moved in with Alana as my legal guardian, I started seeing you…Things were getting better.” He swallowed thickly, eyes unfocused where they were locked in on the television screen. “I thought it was over. And now he’s back here and I can’t—”

He stopped, choking on his words, and Matthew went, “Shh, it’s okay,” and gently pet his hair until he’d gathered himself up enough to speak again. “I can’t do this again, Matthew. He’s already managed to kill three of the people closest to me in one night and he’s going to be after you and Alana next. And then it’s just going to be me and him. Like he wants.”

“That’s not going to happen, Will. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen,” Matthew said, his voice, of course, fiercely protective. He pulled Will a little closer to him, Will adjusting where his head lay. “Even if I have to kill him myself.”

“Please, Matthew…” Will said, his voice low, and pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I know you aren’t. Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself.”

Will sighed, placing his head back down on Matthew’s stomach, feeling the firm muscle that lay beneath his shirt. It was always so comforting to be able to feel that, to feel _Matthew_. Matthew had been the one to save him the day Hannibal first made his move, before the killing started. Matthew had inadvertently rescued him, and Will was going to be forever grateful for that, forever in Matthew’s debt although Matthew promised him that just having Will was enough to make up for anything he’d done for him in the past. After all, Matthew had been in love with Will before Will even knew he existed. His love for him bordered on obsession, and it should have worried Will, but it didn’t. Matthew would never do a single thing to hurt him, never once step across a line that Will established. And Will thought it was perfect that way. After everything that had happened, he needed someone like Matthew. Someone who adored and cherished him to the point of making sure he was constantly comfortable in the relationship, no matter what. Matthew was a saint, a blessing, and Will cherished him in return.

“I haven’t seen Alana in a while,” Will commented after a few minutes of silence, filled only by the blabbering coming from the TV, all nonsensical to Will. He couldn’t understand a word of it right now, too lost in his own head to try and properly make sense of what was going on on-screen. Besides, they’d only turned on the news to see what they were saying about what happened, and then Matthew had forced him to flip to something else, something inane so he wouldn’t agonize over what had happened earlier. The deaths.

“Want me to go look for her?” Matthew instantly offered, body tensing against Will as he prepared to move.

“You don’t have to,” Will said, but Matthew was already getting up, shifting out from underneath Will and off the bed.

“It’s okay, I got it,” he said with a smile at Will. “I’ll be back soon.” He leaned in to kiss Will’s forehead gently, then headed out of the room. Will lay back against the bed, missing the other’s teen’s warmth and comforting presence as soon as it was gone. Matthew had a way of calming him, soothing the broken fragments of his mind. In his company, Will could usually actually get some much needed sleep, find a way to rest without the usual plague of nightmares upon his brain. And even if he did have nightmares, Matthew would be there to soothe him back to sleep, hold his shaking body and whisper to him over and over and over again that this wasn’t the past and nothing could hurt him now. Not on Matthew’s watch.

So, his nose pressed up against Matthew’s abandoned tuxedo jacket so he could get the full force of his scent, he started to drift off, exhausted by the day and, although in a near constant state of panic, relaxed enough by Matthew’s scent and the lingering warmth from him in the bed to actually make an attempt at sleep. He couldn’t have been asleep for long, only minutes at most, when he heard a call from downstairs, what sounded like a shout of his name and another word, and he jolted awake, sitting up in bed fast enough to cause a rush of blood to his head, his heart pounding. He paused where he was, listening closely, carefully; but there was no sound.

“Matthew?”

A pause, long enough for him to take a shaky breath—no answer. He waited a minute, in absolute silence, then got out of bed, padding into the hallway to call again.

“Alana?”

No answer. Matthew hadn’t answered either, and Matthew always answered when Will called, no matter what he was doing. He knew the issues that Will had with being alone, the need he had to always check where his loved ones were and if they were still alright. So Matthew not answering him…no. No, it couldn’t be. Everything was fine. Everything had to be fine.

“Matthew?” he called, his voice more hesitant this time, laden with a heavy fear, the paranoia of the past. Still no answer. A nervous nausea was crawling up his throat now, making his stomach churn as he took a step, then another, into the hall. Absolute silence greeted him, a deathly quiet over the whole house. No. No, this wasn’t good. No, this was exactly like what happened before, and panic had taken a hold of the base of his skull, curling into his brain and making its home there like a dragon curling around a pile of gold.

He took a few deep, measured breaths, relying on breathing techniques that Bedelia had taught him to calm himself down when a panic attack hit, as they used to frequently. Okay, no need to panic. Maybe they were both just busy, or not answering for some other reason. Some perfectly legitimate, completely understandable reason. God he hoped so.

But he wasn’t going to go downstairs without being prepared. Just in case. He went into Alana’s bedroom, steps careful, so careful, bare feet padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The gun was where it always was, in the closet, top shelf, the box locked. He knew where she hid the keys, though, and it only took him a few minutes to get the gun out, carefully loading it, but not turning the safety off.

Deep breaths.

He got up from where he’d been crouched on the floor, holding the gun with both hands as he’d been taught as he made his way towards the stairs, steps careful, quiet, slow. It would be okay. He was just being paranoid, as he always was. There was nothing to be afraid of, no monsters lurking here.

“Matthew?”

***

“What do you mean he’s still out there?” Alana asked, her voice raised, and Will looked over from where he was before Matthew ushered him up the stairs and away from the two adults. Alana dropped her voice again, making sure it was low enough that Will wouldn’t hear it on his way up the stairs. “I thought you said you had this under control.”

“We do,” Miriam said calmly, holding her hands out as if trying to placate Alana, calm her down. “We sealed off the hotel and are checking every person that comes out of it as they go by and searching every room. There’s no way that he’s going to slip past us.”

“But you still haven’t caught him yet, and meanwhile I have a terrified teenage boy on my hands who’s already had enough trauma for several lifetimes, and you don’t even have the source of his terror in custody.” Her voice was hard, cutting, showing the care that she always displayed towards Will, her charge, the one person she’d made an absolute promise to protect. And she would protect him, however she had to, and that included chewing out the people who were supposed to have a handle on this, who were supposed to find the monster and put him behind bars. Who were currently telling her that they had no idea where he was.

“Will will be safe here,” Miriam promised, her voice still even, calm, an attempt to be soothing. “We have officers stationed outside and I personally am going to stay here and watch the house while they search the hotel. They’re going to find him. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, tell that to the traumatized teenage boy upstairs who just lost three of his closest friends,” Alana nearly snapped.

“I’m very sorry about his and your loss. But at the moment, the only thing that I can do is offer protection while we work on finding Hannibal Lecter.”

Alana looked at her for a minute, her eyes hard, and then cast a glance at the stairs that Will had gone up just a few minutes ago, Matthew in tow. “I’m going to go check on Will,” she muttered, stalking away from Miriam on her way up the stairs.

She found Will and Matthew in bed, the two of them curled up with Will’s head on Matthew’s stomach, both of them cuddling, she was sure, for the sake of Will’s comfort. And god did he need some comfort right now. She was glad to see that though the TV was on, it wasn’t turned to the news, and she had a feeling that was more due to Matthew’s influence than anything. Will would want to know what was going on in the search, and Matthew absolutely would not allow him to agonize over it, hoping to distract him with other things. Thank god for Matthew.

“Hey,” she said softly, and Will looked up at her, sitting up slightly. “You don’t have to get up for me, it’s fine.”

He lay back down again, his head comfortably against Matthew’s chest, Matthew running his fingers repeatedly through his hair. “Ms. Lass and the others are stationed outside, and I’ll be downstairs if you need me, okay?” Alana said, and Will nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice slightly rough, and she nodded, offering him a slight smile before heading back downstairs, her eyes lingering on him for a minute.

He looked like a mess. Clearly distraught, torn apart by what had happened tonight and reliving the past exactly like Alana had been hoping to avoid. But there was no other choice for him. Of course he was going to immediately revert to three years ago, go straight back to that awful place where this had all started. The only difference was now he had Alana and Matthew to rely on, but they couldn’t completely heal the wounds on his psyche, though they could certainly try. Trying was all they could do at the moment, trying and waiting as they all held their breath, waiting to see when the man of Will’s nightmares was going to be caught.

But she’d been assured that he would be caught, and she turned on the news as she passed into the living room, on the way to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to look at the screen. Still no news on it, just the same recycled things about the bodies that had been found, the prom that had been ruined by this horror. She headed into the kitchen, tempted to pull out a bottle of wine for herself but knowing she should stay awake, alert. She opted for water instead, pouring herself a glass as she looked towards the living room, head cocked slightly as she listened to the TV from in here. After a minute she went in and turned the news off, coming back into the kitchen and looking around for something to do, cleaning, maybe. There was little else she could do right now.

It was when she was turned towards the fridge, looking inside for something to eat or throw out, either way, when things came crashing down. Or more accurately, the door came crashing into her head, and she stumbled back, dazed by the hit. A moment later a hand was knotted through her hair and her head smashed into the cabinet, the second hit causing blackness to cover her vision, and before she knew what was happening she was passed out on the floor, unaware of the man stepping over her unconscious body, a knife hidden in the waistband of his pants.

***

_ALERT, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. PLEASE EXIT THE BUILDING._

Will was upstairs in the suite when the alarms started going off, lights flashing and a siren noise interrupted by the automated voice that kept repeating those words. An emergency, great. They still didn’t know where Bev was and he hadn’t seen Brian or Jimmy either, not for quite a while. Matthew and Margot were downstairs and no doubt the random emergency alert would make Matthew worry about Will all alone, but Will was simply up here to try and find Bev before Prom King and Queen announcements started. But she was nowhere to be found, and he had to assume she was somewhere else, hopefully on her way out of the building.

“Bev?” he called anyway, even though he’d already searched the entire suite. “Jimmy? Brian?”

He waited for a few minutes, hovering by the closet, an uneasy feeling beginning to creep up his spine. That was normal, though. He usually felt uneasy when he was alone, like there was something right around the corner waiting to catch him by surprise. After everything that had happened, it was understandable; now there was a monster in every closet, a murderer under every bed. It’d been like this for three years and he’d gotten used to it, had simply avoided spending his time alone. And with his friends, and especially with the addition of Matthew, that had been relatively easy.

But now he was completely alone, in silence aside from the alarm still going off. No answer from any of the three teens, and considering his search had been relatively thorough, he could safely assume that they weren’t there. He turned to head back out the door he’d left open, and stopped in his tracks, watching as someone slowly shut it. Someone who shouldn’t have been here, who was supposed to be locked up far away, who had been haunting his nightmares for three years and now, now had to be a figment of his imagination. This couldn’t be real.

 

_ALERT, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. PLEASE EXIT THE BUILDING._

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal said, his voice calm, perfectly balanced, the door clicking shut behind him as he pushed it fully closed with one hand.

When Will tried to speak, at first all that came out was a strangled noise, stuttered speech that petered out and didn’t go anywhere. He opened his mouth several times, as if he was actually prepared to say something, breathing in each time as if preparing to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he managed to get something out, eyes flicking to the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s 9:13 pm, I’m in Virginia, and my name is Will Graham,” he managed to say, though he nearly stuttered over every word. It’d been years since he’d had to check reality like this, since he’d hallucinated Hannibal anywhere near him, but he was off his meds tonight so maybe that was it? Please god let that be it. Please please please please—

“It’s been a very long time,” Hannibal continued, taking a step farther into the room, Will automatically, shakily taking a step back from him. “You’ve grown up quite a bit.”

“I—had to,” Will said, taking another step back as Hannibal took one more forward. “After what you did to me.” His voice was slightly shaky, but his tone was hard, as biting as he could make it, which wasn’t very biting at all. Not under the current circumstances.

Hannibal didn’t react to his tone anyway, or to Will’s words, really. “I missed you very much. Did you miss me?”

His eyes wouldn’t stop moving, roaming over Will’s face, his body, as if he was just soaking him in, marveling at being in his presence once again. There was a look in those eyes that Will didn’t like, something close to how Matthew looked at him, but of a different variety, a darker, more dangerous variety. And that was saying something, considering Matthew’s love at times bordered on obsession and his eyes were always full of a dark intensity when he looked at Will. Hannibal’s were dark as well, but they held something different; possession. Ah, yes, that was it. Hannibal looked at Will as if he was already his, as if the teen belonged to him. Matthew would never look at Will like that, because Matthew saw Will as a gift, not an object to be owned. Hannibal might have perceived Will as a gift, but only as one that the universe owed him. But Will owed him nothing, and he owed Will everything, everything that he’d taken from him. Everything that used to be his and was now six feet underground.

Will didn’t answer Hannibal in words, choosing to take a step back as Hannibal took another one forward, and abruptly his back hit the mirrored closet and he stopped, shaking. Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go but forward, to Hannibal, the last place he wanted to be. The one place he couldn’t be.

But Hannibal was still calm calm calm and Will was shaking apart, backed up against the mirrored doors of the closet and trembling, trembling, heart pounding in his chest hard enough to make him shake with the force of it. Hannibal took another step into the room and Will tried to slide along the door to the right, only to have Hannibal follow his movement. In a race, the older man was probably going to win, and he’d certainly win in a fight. So what options did Will have left?

“I want you to remain calm, Will. There’s no need to be frightened, I’m not going to hurt you.” Under different circumstances, if he hadn’t known exactly what and who Hannibal was, that voice would have been soothing, relaxing, a balm to the frightened rabbit that was his brain right now, desperate to hop away and leave him limp, senseless, vulnerable to Hannibal. He was having trouble holding it together and he wondered how obvious it was, how much of his barely restrained fear Hannibal could see. Judging by the slight gleam in the older man’s eyes, all of it.

Will had never felt as exposed as he did under Hannibal’s gaze, like he was being dissected one piece at a time into smaller and smaller pieces until eventually, there’d be nothing left. He avoided eye contact on instinct, averse to it under normal circumstances and absolutely terrified of it under these circumstances. He didn’t want to make eye contact with Hannibal, didn’t want to give him any sort of power in the situation. And eye contact was a form of power.

He tried to slip right again and Hannibal moved with him instantly, taking another step forward for good measure. He was getting close, so close, and Will was afraid that his heart was going to give out in his chest, decide that it could no longer beat because a predator was nearby, nearly close enough to touch and Hannibal took another step forward and oh he was—he was reaching out his hand to touch Will, gently laying his palm against Will’s cheek.  

Will shivered on instinct, nearly shuddering at the touch, and Hannibal went, “Shh,” in a very soft voice that was far too gentle, far too tender, just like the touch was. This was just like every nightmare Will had had, only now was the time when Hannibal gutted him in his dreams, stabbed him with the blade he currently had in his other hand, the one his grip was tightening as if preparing to use it, and Will couldn’t move to defend himself, couldn’t do anything but shake as he waited for the plunge of the blade. But it never came. And that was almost more horrifying than anything, because it meant for certain that he wasn’t dreaming. That this all wasn’t some awful, horrible nightmare that he could wake up from at some point. This was real, and there was no way out.

Wild azure eyes gazed into calm maroon ones, Will’s heartbeat nearly audible in the silence between them, only interrupted by the sound of the alarms going off.

 

_ALERT, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. PLEASE EXIT THE BUILDING._

Hannibal exhaled softly, his hand beginning to stroke Will’s cheek gently, so gently and carefully, like Will was the most precious thing in the world to him at the moment. Or ever, it seemed from their previous interactions, and Will wasn’t sure how to dispel him of that notion. How to show him that all he was was a teenage boy with nothing left, who couldn’t give him what he wanted. But he couldn’t, and it was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it.

“I’ve missed you, Will,” Hannibal breathed, eyes moving between both of Will’s as if he could read his mind, look into his soul and find his secrets. There was nothing there for him, nothing but blank fear as Will gazed back at him with empty eyes, not offering him anything in return for his efforts because he had nothing left to give. Hannibal had taken it all long ago. “They wouldn’t let me write to you. I would have, you know. There were so many things I wanted to say…”

“St—stay.”

The word was stuttered out through nearly chattering teeth, fear making Will shiver and shake, and it took him a minute to clarify, swallowing down his fear.

“Stay a—way from me.”

He wanted to be brave, oh he did, but it was impossible when panic was drowning his brain in adrenaline, making it hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to live. He was at the mercy of a madman, the worst type, the kind that could remain calm and level headed until the very end. Hannibal was so calm right now, as if he didn’t have a knife, as if he hadn’t trapped Will against the closet, as if he wasn’t an insane psychopath with a sick obsession that he refused to let go of, no matter what. No matter who he had to kill to get close to Will.

“Oh god,” he whispered, coming to a realization, eyes wide. “Jimmy. Brian. Beverly.”

“They were keeping you from me,” Hannibal said, and goddamnit how was he so calm right now? How was his tone so even while admitting to murder? “But their deaths were quick. Painless.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Will asked incredulously, brow furrowing deeply. Anger made an appearance, a flash of flame licking at his chest. “Is that supposed to fucking make me feel better about the fact that you _murdered my friends_?”

“Language, Will.” It was a gentle admonishment, the kind Hannibal used to give when they were in class together and he was being obtuse or otherwise not living up to the high expectations Hannibal had had for him. That was a lifetime ago, and the reminder of it caused a pang in Will’s chest, the thought of how this all could have turned out differently if Hannibal simply hadn’t become obsessed with him. Fallen in love with him, according to Hannibal, but obsession was a much better term. It was more appropriate, considering what Hannibal’s feelings had led him to do.

“There’s no need to be angry. I’m here for you now.”

Angry. No, he was angry, and currently it was outweighing the fear that had had a stranglehold on his brain. He had so much to be angry about. The deaths, all the deaths, everything that Hannibal had taken from him simply because he wanted them to be together. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking _fair_ , and suddenly Will couldn’t take this anymore. Anger was outweighing fear in his brain at the moment, and as Hannibal leaned in, for a kiss, he was sure, he reacted.

He kneed Hannibal in the groin, shoving him away at the same time and barely, just barely managing to slip away from him, to the right. Hannibal reached for him but Will managed to evade his grip, running through the hotel room and into the bathroom, quickly shutting and locking the door behind himself.

It was a temporary safety, or more like the illusion of it, as it only took a moment before Hannibal was slamming his shoulder against the door, and Will knew it wasn’t going to hold, knew that he was doomed and was going to die in this little bathroom, nice as it was. He didn’t know what to do, mind scrambling, panicked, for any way out of this, any way for him to get out that didn’t involve bargaining with Hannibal, or giving in to him. The thud, thud, thud of Hannibal against the door wasn’t helping things, and Will clutched at his brown curls, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing became more and more panicked, simply trying to imagine that all of this wasn’t happening, that he was just dreaming.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he muttered to himself repeatedly, desperately trying to ignore the pounding on the door, the steady thumps against it. He dropped down to the ground, rocking back and forth as he tried to breathe, lungs seizing up at the same time that his heart did, and it honestly felt like he was going to die before Hannibal even reached him, like his heart or lungs were going to give out and he was going to die gasping.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted, and quite suddenly, there was a silence at the door. His eyes slowly opened, black lashes wet smudges against his cheeks from his unshed tears, and god, he was so afraid. So very, very afraid. The silence dragged on for a minute, his heartbeat stuttering through it as blood rushed through his ears, but he couldn’t hear anything but his own vital signs and harsh breathing. No. This was a trap. This had to be a trap, Hannibal was trying to trick him into coming out, into revealing himself by making it seem like he was gone for the moment. Actually, it was worse than that. A moment later, the pounding resumed, but it was accompanied by the splintering of wood, and Will covered his ears with his hands, watching in horror as the red of a fire extinguisher appeared through the rapidly developing hole in the door, and then Hannibal’s face.

Oh god oh god oh god he was going to break through, he was going to break through, please god no—

“Will?”

He took his hands off of his ears at the same time Hannibal turned around, and then disappeared. The voice that had called was one that Will didn’t recognize, but it was coming closer as it called his name again, and a moment later another face appeared in the hole in the door, and behind it, Will could see cops.

“Will, my name is Detective Jack Crawford, can you let me in?”

Will scrambled to his feet, instantly opening the door and nearly falling into Jack Crawford, who quickly holstered his gun, holding onto the trembling boy. “He’s here, he’s here, you have to help me, he’s still in here and I couldn’t get out, please—” It dissolved into incomprehensible noises and an occasionally intelligible word, and Jack quickly led him out of the room, past the officers that were beginning to search, guns out.

“Here, get him out of the building, get him home,” he said, handing Will off to Miriam, who nodded, quickly heading to take Will away from here, load him into a squad car where Matthew was already waiting for him, instantly wrapping his arms around him and beginning to soothe him.

“Will, where’s Bev?” Margot asked as he passed, and Will shook his head, Miriam shutting the car door behind him.

“They’re all dead, Margot, they’re all dead,” he called back, and she stepped away from the curb in shock as the car drove off, Will trembling against Matthew who just held him, held him, held him, like he needed to be. But all of Matthew’s reassurances fell on deaf ears, Will only able to hear one thing;

_“Hello, Will.”_

***

It’d been altogether too easy. Though, to be fair, killing came naturally to him, was a simple instinct that he followed and couldn’t entirely ignore. But he’d be able to, if Will wanted him to. If they were together, and he simply requested it. Ah, but while that was the end solution to all of this, Will wasn’t quite his yet, though he was well on his way there. He still remembered fondly how the boy had trembled under his hands, seeming ready to shake apart at the lightest touch. And a light touch was about as far as Hannibal had managed to get before they were interrupted, and from there everything was a mess. A restraining order, being fired from the school, and then, of course, the whole mess with Will’s family that had ended rather…unfortunately. And led to Hannibal’s temporary incarceration, but that was a small inconvenience at best. Because now he was free, and oh, falling back into killing was like slipping on a kid glove, something that was designed for him and fit perfectly.

First was Beverly. Hannibal remembered her somewhat fondly from his class, remembering that she had as smart a mouth as she did a brain, and used both efficiently, though joked around with Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller far too often during his lessons. Will, on the other hand, had always paid careful attention, and had become something of a favorite before that had progressed into something entirely different. He’d always had a light and easy rapport with Hannibal, given him smiles with sparkling eyes that Hannibal had interpreted to mean a reciprocation, a shared feeling between him and Hannibal. Will was still in denial that that was what it was, but that was alright. Hannibal was going to make sure he understood.

So, his friends had to go.

Beverly first, her throat slit in an under construction area of the hotel. Unfortunately, she’d bumped into him and recognized him, but not immediately, and Hannibal had been prepared for her when she came running out of her room and for the stairwell, leaving Margot behind. It’d been an unnecessary chase from there, with an inevitable conclusion. She really hadn’t stood a chance.

Next was Jimmy and Brian, the two of them both smart, but also easily distracted when he was teaching, something he didn’t appreciate. They were both too smart for their own good, the kind that had minds that wandered everywhere and couldn’t fix on one point. They came separately up to the room, clearly in the middle of a fight, and he took care of Brian first, hiding him away, before he took care of Jimmy. Easy, altogether too easy. But neither of them were who he was really aiming for, the one that he really wanted to kill; Matthew Brown.

Because, oh. Matthew made his blood boil. He was the one that had really started this whole mess, and he was also the one that had now stepped into Hannibal’s place, taking what was rightfully Hannibal’s. He and Will were ‘dating’, apparently, and Hannibal wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Seen them both in person—from a significant distance, of course—and then in the pictures on Beverly’s phone as he scrolled through it after killing Jimmy and Brian. Most of them were of her and Margot, or her and Will—best friends until the end—but then he came across one of Will kissing Matthew, and something hot coiled tight in his stomach, a burning anger settling there.

No. No, Matthew Brown was not the right person for Will, never had been, and never would be. And simply for thinking that he was, he deserved to die. But before he had the opportunity, the alarm started going off in the building, and he knew that the police had arrived. Which meant it was time to act on his plan, or at least it would have been, if Will hadn’t shown up in the room. An unexpected, but pleasant surprise.

Now he had a chance to get Will to cooperate with him, to come willingly with him, and god even just being able to see and hear and touch him in person was more intoxicating than anything he’d ever known. But then things went wrong.

***

“And he’s been out for how long? And why didn’t anyone _tell me_?”

Miriam looked up in alarm as Jack slammed the phone back down into its cradle, muttering in language less than appropriate for the police station. “What is it?” she asked, closing the file in front of her.

Jack didn’t answer for a moment, getting up from his desk and beginning to walk, and she quickly got up to follow him. “Three years ago, this teacher became obsessed with one of his students. The kid got a restraining order, the teacher was arrested for sexually assaulting a minor, and everyone went home thinking it was over.”

“Then what happened?”

 

_“—three dead one orphaned in horrific attack—” “—calling him Hannibal the Cannibal—” “—Dr. Lecter was arrested just a few months ago for sexual assault of a minor—” “—convicted of several murders, not just the Graham family—”_

“The kid didn’t want to press charges, so they released him. Two months later, he kills the kid’s entire family when he’s not home. The kid got home while it was happening, managed to find a place to hide until it was over. He had to watch him kill his mother,” Jack explained, grabbing his coat from the hook it was on. “We searched his house after it happened and found that this wasn’t his first time killing. Does the name Chesapeake Ripper ring a bell?”

Miriam’s eyes widened as she watched Jack put on his coat. “No,” she said, and he nodded.

“That’s how we found him. If he hadn’t attacked this poor kid’s family we’d never have known. We found all kinds of other things in his house, journals and diaries devoted to this one kid, even drawings. He was sick, and obsessed. And three days ago he apparently broke out of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, though no one saw fit to inform me until today.”

He started heading for the door and Miriam was quick to follow, grabbing her own coat from the rack. “So what do we do now?” she asked, struggling slightly to keep up with Jack’s long strides. “Have we heard anything about where he might be?”

“No, but I have a feeling once we find Will Graham, we’ll find Hannibal Lecter. But for now, we have to go inform him and his guardian, Alana Bloom. Hopefully he’s somewhere safe already.”

***

“Matthew’s going to shit bricks when he sees you,” Beverly said, stretched out on Will’s bed and watching him put the finishing touches on his tuxedo. “Did you two buy each other boutonnieres and everything?”

“I bought him one, I don’t know if he bought one for me. Probably,” Will said distractedly, trying to fix his sky blue tie. He gave up after a minute, walking over to the bed and bending down so Beverly could do it. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”

Beverly sat up on her knees so she could start fixing the tie, moving with quick, adept fingers. “My hair and makeup are already done, I just have to put my dress on. It’s not like Margot’s really going to care anyway, I could show up naked and she’d be happy. Actually, I think she’d be happier.”

“Thank you for the lovely mental image, Beverly,” Will said, and Bev gave him a smile and a clap on the shoulder as she finished his tie.

“Why, does imagining a woman naked really offend you that much? God, you are super gay.”

Will straightened up again, going back to the mirror to try to tame his nest of curls. “It’s less picturing a woman naked and more picturing my best friend naked. I was never interested in you that way.”

Beverly snorted. “Well part of that is because you’re hella frickin’ gay, but yeah. We never had that problem.”

“Because you also happen to be ‘hella frickin’ gay’,” Will said, his voice stiff, nearly stumbling over the slang, and Beverly laughed.

“Please call Matthew that when he gets here, he’ll so get a kick out of it,” she said, and Will shook his head. “Pretty please? Do it or I’ll steal your boutonniere to make up for the fact I didn’t get Margot a corsage.”

Will turned to give her a look, in the middle of combing his hair. “What kind of girlfriend are you?”

“The lazy kind. So come on, do it. Pretty please?”

“No,” Will said flatly, turning back to the mirror to finish taming his hair.

Beverly sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll just have to do it for you.” She hopped off the bed, going to the closet, where she’d hung up her dress when she’d first gotten here. She pulled it out of its plastic sleeve, holding it up to the light for a minute to examine the gold beading of the bodice. “Should’ve worn a tuxedo,” she sighed lightly, moving back to the bed and taking the dress with her.

“Isn’t Margot wearing basically a tuxedo?”

“It’s a fitted women’s suit with a tie, so, technically. And I have this,” she said, holding up a black bowtie to show him.

“Cute,” he said, his tone amused, and she gave him a look before turning back to the bed and beginning to strip.

“You know, we’re going to have the queerest entourage ever for this,” she said, pulling off her shirt. Will had already turned back to the mirror, offering her privacy even though Beverly had little to no modesty. “You and Matthew, me and Margot, and Jimmy and Brian. Hella gay.”

“Would you have it any other way? We’re the outcasts, aren’t we? On the very fringes of society.” He adjusted his tie once more before smoothing his hand over it, not noticing Bev’s dramatic eye roll as she took off her jeans and socks.

“No need to be so dramatic about it. You and Brian should take a class on being drama queens together,” she said, stepping into her dress. “Zip me up, will you?”

He stepped over to help, holding the dress shut at the top and tugging the zipper up, hooking the small metal hook at the top so it was completely shut. “I’m sure Margot will be able to help you out of this later,” he said, his tone dryly amused.

“Hey, at least I’ll be getting some action.”

“Are you implying I won’t?”

“Well, that is the entire point of getting the suite in the hotel, isn’t it? So all of us can?” Beverly asked playfully, leaning down to pick up the small bag of her jewelry she had lying next to her overnight bag on the floor. She started putting on her necklace as she said, “That’s at least what I’m planning on doing. And I’m sure Jimmy and Brian will want to play a few rousing rounds of hide-the-weasel.”

“ ‘Hide-the-weasel’? Really?” Will asked, turning to give her a look.

She shrugged. “Is there a better way to put it?”

He opened his mouth to answer her but was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell downstairs, causing a smirk to appear on Beverly’s lips. She quickly pulled on her high heels, doing up the ankle straps with practiced ease, and hoisted her overnight bag up onto her shoulder, going over to Will and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Romeo, let’s go see our dates,” she said, and led the way downstairs.

It was amazing to watch Matthew’s face light up as Will walked down the stairs. He was waiting for him down at the bottom, and each step that Will took made his smile widen just slightly, until he was fully grinning as Will reached the bottom, taking his hand off of the banister. Will smiled back at him, feeling a little bashful at the sheer adoration in Matthew’s gaze.

“You look amazing,” Matthew murmured, and Will nearly blushed.

“So do you,” he said, and reached out to adjust Matthew’s sky blue bow tie, which was slightly askew. Matthew stopped him, grabbing ahold of his hand and taking it in his own, lifting it to press a kiss to the back of it like he was a gentleman and Will was a Victorian lady. Yeah, now Will was definitely blushing, bowled over as usual by the sheer sweetness of the other teen. Matthew always touched him carefully, reverently, like he was handling some ancient artifact and not a traumatized teenage boy. Though they both required delicate handling.

“Where’s Margot?” Beverly asked, not impressed by their romantic display and determined to ruin their moment.

“Outside by the limo,” Matthew said, not taking his eyes off of Will. Beverly brushed past the two of them, rolling her eyes and muttering something about ‘gay hawks in love’, and Matthew offered Will a smile as soon as she was gone. “Ready for the finishing touches?”

“Let me get your boutonniere,” Will said, turning towards the kitchen.

“No need, I have it here,” Alana said, appearing in the doorway with the boutonniere encased in plastic to protect it.

“Thanks,” Will said, giving her a smile as he accepted it from her. He opened the case, pulling out the boutonniere made from a blue carnation flanked with baby’s breath. His fingers were nervous, trembling lightly as he fumbled around for a minute before managing to successfully pin the boutonniere to Matthew’s lapel, bringing a smile to the teen’s lips.

“My turn,” he said, pulling a separate cased boutonniere from his pocket and opening the case. It was a fetching combination of stephanotis and lily of the valley, with just a touch of baby’s breath thrown in to counter the two more central flowers.

“It’s beautiful,” Will said as Matthew reached out to pin it on him, catching a hint of the fragrance of the stephanotis. “And it smells good too.”

“I tried to find something that wouldn’t clash with your cologne,” Matthew said with a shrug, as if that wasn’t another one of those thoughtful little things he did that Will would never have thought of in the first place. He pulled his hands back, the boutonniere pinned on in much less time than Will had taken with his, and smiled at Will. “Ready to go?”

“Let me just grab my bag,” Will said, going over to the base of the stairs, where Alana was now standing.

“Have fun tonight,” she said, looking like she was about to give him a hug, and he indulged her with a quick embrace as Matthew looked on, smirking. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you then,” Will said, then returned to Matthew with a smile and his bag for the night. “I’m ready.”

***

_“I don’t know if this is right or not.”_

_“Let me see.”_

_Will stood from his desk, bringing his pen and paper with him as he walked to the desk at the front of the room. Hannibal looked up expectantly as he approached, his hands folded against the desk, and reached one out to accept the paper from Will, looking it over. Will stood anxiously at the front of the desk, tapping his fingers gently, quietly against the surface of the wood as he waited for a verdict._

_“This is very articulate, Will. I’m not quite sure why you thought it might be wrong,” Hannibal said after a minute, handing the paper back to Will._

_Will accepted it with a shrug, looking down at the paper to avoid any eye contact with Hannibal. He avoided it in general, but Hannibal had a much more intense gaze than most people, and he always made an effort to make eye contact with Will, for whatever reason. It made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to ask his teacher to stop looking at him. Besides, Hannibal seemed to already know he didn’t like it. Which made Will wonder why he continued to do it anyway._

_“Because I mostly made it up,” he said honestly with a small smile, and was rewarded by a smile from Hannibal. Dr. Lecter. Right, he was supposed to use his formal title, considering that Hannibal was his teacher, after all. Informality between teachers and students was usually frowned upon._

_“What you consider made up is ten times more intelligent than what most students come up with when they’re trying,” Hannibal said, folding his hands together again. He offered Will a small, amused smile, an almost conspiratorial one, like he was sharing a secret meant only for Will’s ears. A lot of Hannibal’s smiles were like that, and Will couldn’t help the slight fluttering in his chest that they caused, the warm sense of pride in himself that Hannibal saw him as enough of an equal to share these things with him. It made him feel special, honestly, but that was bordering on the edge of a cliché. The student that had a crush on their favorite teacher. No, he didn’t see Hannibal that way. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel pampered under the attention that the older man gave him._

_“Thank you,” he said honestly, shifting slightly where he stood in front of the desk. He took a look around the empty room, asking, “Don’t you usually have more students staying after with you?”_

_“I do,” Hannibal said, getting up from his desk and doing up the front button of his suit jacket. He headed for the door to the classroom, kicking out the doorstop with a foot clad in a shoe that Will knew had to be out of his salary range, and shut the door. “But I sent them home.” His wrist flicked, locking the door in a smooth motion as he turned to Will again, offering him a smile._

_Will’s brow furrowed over silvery blue eyes. “Why did you send them home?”_

_“Because I wanted some time alone with you. To talk.” Hannibal pulled down the shade that covered the window, finally stepping away from the door, towards Will. Will didn’t move, still more confused than anything._

_“You see, Will,” Hannibal said, taking another measured step towards him, careful, so careful, like a cat trying not to scare away a mouse, “I care very much about you. And it has come to my attention that you perhaps care about me as well.”_

_Something stuck in Will’s throat and he had trouble swallowing it down, looking at Hannibal. “What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?”  
Another step, as careful as the last. “I like you very much, Will. Perhaps more than is necessarily appropriate for the relationship that we have. I’m afraid that my feelings have made me treat you differently than my other students.” A final step, bringing him to Will’s side, and Will quite suddenly became aware of the way that his heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to beat through his ribcage and delicate skin and fall to the floor. Dead._

_Will was averting his gaze on instinct and Hannibal put his hand underneath his chin, forcing him to lift his eyes to his teacher’s. “That’s better,” Hannibal said, removing his hand again. He let his hand trail along the edge of the desk, stopping just short of where Will’s hand still rested against it, and Will’s fingers twitched unconsciously. “I have been observing you for quite a while. And I believe that you may share my sentiments. Is it safe to say that?”_

_He shifted so he was behind Will, so close behind him, Will practically able to feel his breath on the back of his neck, and leaned in to take a deep breath. Did he just…? Yes, yes he did. “You smell afraid, Will. Do I intimidate you?”_

_Will didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know how to answer any of this. What was he supposed to do when his favorite teacher had just confessed—had just confessed—had just—no, that couldn’t be it. Hannibal couldn’t mean it that way. He was talking in purely friendly terms, nothing more serious than that. So why did it feel so serious? Why were those words spoken so heavily, as if every one had meaning and a significance beyond what Will wanted to recognize? Why was the air so still and heavy in this room with the locked door? Why was the door locked at all?_

_Will found that he couldn’t move, frozen in place like a rabbit faced with a wolf, his breathing quick, shallow. Stressed. Hannibal tsked softly, and gently placed a hand on Will’s chest that Will couldn’t pull away from, feeling his heartbeat. “I’ve scared you. I assure you, that wasn’t my intention,” he said, his voice gentle, careful. Careful careful careful, he was being so careful with Will, treating him like some priceless treasure when he was just a scared teenage boy who didn’t know what to do with the situation at hand and couldn’t move because he was paralyzed by what was going on right now. Paralyzed by Hannibal._

_Hannibal’s hand slid slowly, slowly down, stopping to rest at the base of Will’s abdomen, just above the waistband of his jeans. At this point, it was getting harder and harder to write this off as just friendly, and Will was beginning to shake by the time that Hannibal’s dexterous fingers were undoing the button to his jeans._

_“I don’t believe I’ve misinterpreted your actions, Will. You’ve made it clear how you felt, just not in so many words,” Hannibal said as he unzipped Will’s jeans, and Will shut his eyes._

_No, no, this was wrong, and he didn’t feel the way Hannibal seemed to think he felt. Sure, maybe he’d had a passing interest, but that’s all it was; a passing interest. A schoolboy crush on his favorite teacher. Not…not this. He didn’t want this with Hannibal, didn’t want to be touched this way. But when he rocked away slightly, Hannibal easily pulled him back, his hand slipping down the front of his jeans, and Will took in a sharp inhale of breath, his face instantly flushing._

_“Shhh. Stay still, please, Will.”_

_A slight, strangled noise of distress made it out of Will’s throat, and Hannibal used his other hand to cover Will’s, stroking his thumb along the back of his hand as if he could soothe him that way. As if that contact would make up for this whole fucked up situation, make everything better, when it was actually making it worse. Making it harder for Will to breathe, making his pulse pick up speed until he thought he was going to faint, making him want to pull away and run screaming out of the room._

_But he couldn’t move. He was trapped, caught under Hannibal’s spell, and Hannibal’s hand in his jeans was moving now and he just wanted to go home, he just wanted to go back to when they were teacher and student and he didn’t know that Hannibal had been harboring something else for him. He didn’t need that knowledge, didn’t need these sinful touches, didn’t need any of this. But he had it, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and Hannibal didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care, too busy with the task at hand. Ha. At hand. The oxygen deprivation was making his brain resort to humor as an alternative to actually facing the situation._

_But there was a noise, and they both looked towards the door as it opened, and another student appeared in the doorway, stopping immediately when he saw the scene before him._

_“Ah, Mr. Brown,” Hannibal said, straightening up, though he didn’t remove the hand that he obviously had down the front of Will’s jeans. “I see you’ve returned for your folder. I believe I’ve spoken to you before about picking the locks on doors after school.” He tsked softly. “It’s very rude of you.”_

“What made you think of that memory?”

“My dream last night,” Will answered, easing back in his seat and rubbing his face with his hands. He looked across the room at Bedelia, who was gently turning her pen in her hand as she watched him.

“What did you dream about?” she asked in that calm, soothing voice she had, always so even. Little to no inflection.

Will let out a slow exhale, looking at Bedelia’s necklace instead of her eyes. His unfortunate habit of avoiding eye contact always seemed to increase when he was in one of these sessions with her, as if the memories and dreams he discussed were shameful somehow. They weren’t shameful; no, not quite. But they were certainly harder to speak about when there was a sympathetic gaze on him. There was little worse than sympathy for his situation, and that was all he seemed to receive these days. Ever since…well.

“The same as usual. The woods, the school, the house. I ended up in the same place that I always do.”

“Was there anything particularly unusual about this dream?”

Will paused for a moment, his brow furrowing as he really considered his most recent dream. It was mostly the usual, regurgitated memories and the nightmare stag and darkened woods that he couldn’t seem to break out of. But there had been something different, hadn’t there? “I was injured in this one. That doesn’t usually happen.”

Bedelia tilted her head slightly, looking at him. And there, there was a spark of interest in her eyes, one he didn’t usually see. Usually she was careful to treat Will as if he was just another patient, as if he wasn’t made an oddity by his empathy. Sometimes, however, that façade dropped, if just for a moment. “Were you aware of how you were injured, by whom or by what?” she asked, tone still perfectly even.

“I’m not sure. I remember limping, but I don’t know why I was, or how my leg became injured. It didn’t hurt, I just couldn’t walk properly. Or run. Like something had ‘lovingly’ hobbled me.”

“Lovingly hobbled you? I can’t imagine anyone injuring someone else so seriously in a loving way. Why do you think of it that way?”

“It was like it didn’t want me to get away, but didn’t want to hurt me,” Will said, his eyes briefly meeting Bedelia’s before flashing down to the pen in her hands. “I didn’t feel any pain from it, but I still couldn’t move very far. So like it was done with care, and in a very precise way. An almost loving way.” He couldn’t really explain why he thought that was true, but it felt that it fit with the dream, as strange as dream logic was. Though his dreams were really logical considering everything that had happened.

Bedelia didn’t speak for a moment, laying her pen down and clasping her hands together. “So, essentially, you were a bird with clipped wings, not hurt but unable to fly. And who do you believe so adoringly maimed you?”

Will’s lips twisted up into a small smile, dry and ironic. “I think we both know the answer to that question, doctor.”

Bedelia didn’t react aside from taking a deep breath, releasing it in a slow exhale through her nose, not quite a sigh. He had to say, she was very good at playing whatever emotions she might have had about the situation very close to the vest, always keeping her reactions very limited, even if he became upset during one of their sessions. Which was less common now, considering it’d been three years. Immediately after had been…messy.

After a minute, Bedelia shifted, crossing her legs a little more tightly together, though whether that was out of discomfort over the subject Will didn’t know. She took a deep breath before saying, her voice quiet—always so quiet, wasn’t she?—“Did you see him?”

Will dipped his head, a confirmation he didn’t want to make. “At the very end. I was back in the house and I saw him—” He stopped, his voice shaking. It was never easy to talk about this part. “I saw him kill her.”

“So once again, you ended up in your memory of that night. What happened after he killed her?”

Will took a minute, rubbing his hand along his pant leg as he gathered himself together. “Same as usual. I waited until he was gone, then ran outside to catch a police car as it went past. But it kept going. Then suddenly he was there, and when I turned to him he stabbed me and gutted me. Just like that night, minus the stabbing.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, turning to look at the shades covering the window. “And then I woke up.”

“What part of the dream made you think of the memory we discussed earlier?” Bedelia asked, tapping her pen once lightly against the notepad in her lap. She never actually took notes during their sessions, so Will wasn’t sure why she even had it there in the first place. Maybe just to appear more professional, establish a distance between them to make Will feel safer? He did feel safer with a professional distance between himself and anyone else that he knew in a capacity that was different than being friends. It made him feel safer to know that there was that distance there, that none of them—hopefully—could do what had already been done to him. That he wouldn’t be broken again.

“I was in the school at the beginning of the dream. I saw the stag, again, but I also saw Matthew, albeit briefly. I usually don’t see him,” he said, eyes moving back to Bedelia, managing to make eye contact for a brief moment.

She leaned back a bit more in her chair. “How is your relationship with Matthew?”

A slow smile spread over his lips, a nearly unconscious one. “Fine,” he said, looking down at Bedelia’s high heeled shoes rather than directly at her. “Better than fine, actually. He adores me.”

“And how do you feel about him?”

Will shrugged, the smile lingering on his lips. “I love him,” he said, looking up at her again, and a light smile graced her lips.

She nodded, turning her eyes to the blank paper in her lap. “I’m glad that you two have been able to maintain your relationship together. Matthew seems like a positive influence in your life. Tonight is the night of your prom, right?”

“Yeah. Matthew and I are going with some friends,” Will said, and her smile turned a bit more genuine as she stood, setting down her pen and paper. He stood as well, reaching out to accept the handshake she offered him.

“Have fun, Will. You deserve a night off,” she said, and he offered her a smile.

“Thank you, Dr. Du Maurier. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

***

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

Oh, Hannibal was so good at hiding his emotions, but Will could see just how pleased he was by that slight gleam in his eyes, the unspoken pleasure that he took in all of this. He liked this situation, liked not only having Matthew at his mercy, but also liked that Will was capitulating, giving in to him and promising what he’d always wanted from him. What he’d always dreamed about, sick fantasies that Will didn’t even want to think about, couldn’t begin to comprehend. And didn’t want to.

“First, put the gun down, Will,” Hannibal said, his voice even, measured, calm. The true psychopath, who could just switch off his emotions in an instant, though Hannibal wasn’t quite there yet. After all, he still cared for Will, and somehow that made him more human. Well. Supposedly it did, according to psychologists. Will just thought it was bullshit. Knew it was bullshit, actually.

Will shook his head, keeping the gun pointed down at the ground, but didn’t place it down yet. “Not until Matthew’s safe,” he answered, and Hannibal tilted his head slightly, seeming amused. Yes, that was amusement, and Will felt a little sick at the fact that he could still recognize his emotions, something leftover from their teacher-student days. From that relationship that seemed like it was decades ago, when really it was only a few years. A few years hadn’t been enough time for Will to recover from his experiences, and Hannibal coming back had just ripped open those wounds a mile wide and then poured salt into them. God. How was he even still alive right now?

“You know very well that I can’t do that. If I release Mr. Brown, I have no guarantee that you won’t immediately shoot.”

“And I have no guarantee that you won’t kill him if I put down the gun.”

Hannibal’s eyes were sparkling and Will knew that he was planning something cunning, something that he wanted to head off ahead of time. Hannibal always had something else up his sleeve, some incredible back up plan, and angry words were burning Will’s tongue but he couldn’t actually bring himself to speak them, not wanting to make the situation any worse than it already was. One wrong move, and that was Matthew’s neck.

“Alright,” Hannibal said softly after a minute. “Walk over to me, and when you reach me, I will let Mr. Brown go and take the gun from you. That way no one has any upper hand. Alright?”

No, that still meant that Hannibal had the upper hand because he was going to get Will, but it was just about the fairest thing he was going to get, the best solution to try to keep Matthew safe. So he had to, or risk losing the person that had quickly become the most important thing in his life.

He nodded, and Hannibal waited patiently as Will began to walk, movements shaky and strained, the gun still down by his side and Hannibal’s hands still poised to give Matthew’s head one final, fatal snap. Will kept his eyes on Matthew the entire time he moved, not wanting to see Hannibal’s steadily growing triumph in his eyes, wanting instead to spend his last few free minutes looking into his love’s eyes and trying to reassure him, though Matthew was trying to do the same. And that was when they heard the call of “Will?” from the kitchen in Alana’s soft voice, and Matthew struck.

He stomped down on Hannibal’s foot, simultaneously driving his elbow into Hannibal’s stomach, and that loosened his grip just enough that Matthew could escape, shouting, “Will, shoot!”

But Will was frozen in place and Hannibal was coming towards him and he had the gun up but oh god oh god he couldn’t do this he was too afraid, too afraid, and just before Hannibal could take the gun, he squeezed his eyes shut and shot, shot, shot, shot, shot, shot. He lost count of the number of times he fired, until all he heard was an empty clicking and realized he’d emptied the entire magazine.

Oh god, he didn’t want to open his eyes. And yet, he had to, had to see what damage he’d done, and after a second, he did, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks, wet with tears he hadn’t even realized he’d started to cry. There was Hannibal, lying on the floor, most of the shots grouped in his chest, a tight formation that Will attributed to the gun training Alana had taken him for. Just in case he ever needed to use it, and tonight, apparently, he had. But that was it. Hannibal was down and there were a few shots in the wall, but Alana was still in the kitchen and Matthew was well out of the way, safe and now looking at Will, watching him carefully because Will had wild eyes and his hands were shaking as he held the gun, which he couldn’t seem to let go of, hands clutching it tightly like a lifeline.

Will abruptly fell to the ground, the gun clattering on the floor as it slipped out of his hands, and Matthew rushed over to him at the same time as Jack Crawford burst through the door, gun in hand, only to see the mess that Will had made. And Will himself was a mess, shaking and crying and clinging to Matthew, so far gone that he couldn’t even think at the moment, could barely breathe. At the moment, though, there was one thing that his mind was repeating, that it kept churching to him in a poisonous whisper that he couldn’t erase no matter how many times he shook his head, as if he could just force the words out if he just shook it hard enough.

 

_“I missed you very much, Will. Did you miss me?”_


End file.
